


Melancholia Is A Beast Of Its Own

by TR33G1RL



Series: Claim Your Victory, For I Am Beaten [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Competent Buggy, Competent!Buggy, Just a short little thing, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, but that's to be seen ;), not much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 09:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20133028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TR33G1RL/pseuds/TR33G1RL
Summary: Ten years, Shanks and Buggy have spent apart. Ten years. Ten years worth of life that they haven't seen head or hide of each other. They've only known each other was alive through farfetched rumors and yellowed bounty posters. But now here they are, on the same island. However, it's not a warm reunion, and Shanks knows exactly why. The last time he spoke to Buggy, he said something without thinking. And now Shanks is going to deal with what he said by proving his words true.(Prequel to 'Aching For You' but can be read alone)





	Melancholia Is A Beast Of Its Own

Silence. 

Painful, dreadful silence in the dark of the late night. 

It surrounds the young pirates that sit on the edge of the dock, pushing at their eardrums like needles that seek to permanently alter them. It’s not calm silence. This type of silence is loud and rings in their ears like howling winds, but without the compromise of a breeze to keep them cool. Instead, their bodies boil as they look at the sky. They occasionally let their pupils move to the corners of their eyes to steal a glance at each other. Immediately the gazes cause their bodies to feel uncomfortable and shaky, so they redirect their gazes back to the sky. The cloudy, overcast night sky.

It’s been years since they sat next to each other like this. How many years would it be by now? Nine or ten, certainly. The thought leaves both young men speechless. Then again, it’s felt like longer than that. They both have their own crew now, they both have trails following them and paths in front of them and a story for each day they’ve been apart. 

God, but that’s a long time. And it shows. It shows in the length of Buggy’s hair and the familiarity he has with his own abilities as he lets his hands float away from his wrists to lift his tankard of beer to his mouth. It shows in the way the Shanks’ holds himself, like he’s balancing something on his shoulders and across his neck. It shows in the extra few inches of distance they keep between themselves. It shows, but neither of them acknowledge these changes for fear of… something they don’t know how to explain.

Finally, the silence reaches a new high that neither man can stand. Buggy opens his mouth to speak, but it’s Shanks who manages to get some words into the empty air first. 

“The… sky’s beautiful tonight,” Shanks comments with an unusually quiet tone. His voice, usually confident and relaxed and lackadaisical, has been stripped of all of it’s normal traits and leaves Shanks with a voice full of uncertainty that tremors like a baby deer’s legs. He raises his own large tankard to his mouth and takes a slow drink. He lets the bitter liquid slowly fill his mouth, drawing out the action for as long as he can. 

Buggy nods wordlessly as he steals a quick glance at his childhood comrade. “Guess so,” He responds as he lets his hands hover in the air, holding tight to the tankard like it’s an anchor in a storm. Like Shanks, his voice is a small, timid creature that’s still unable to walk or see. He sounds like he did when he first joined Roger’s crew; small and weak and unsteady. He raises his own mug back to his lips, taking a small sip and holding it in his mouth as he tries to think of something else to say. But nothing comes to his mind.

And then the silence is back, drilling into their ears and making them shift uncomfortably. 

But Shanks can’t do it anymore, can’t handle the deafening silence, and he forces his vocal chords to rub against each other again and push more words out of his throat. “So… how have you been?” He asks, internally cringing at how boring and cliche the question is. His fingers tap against the side of his tankard in a pattern with too many delayed beats to make a true rhythm. 

Blue eyes stare down into the half empty tankard as Buggy nods again, the bobbing of his head slow and unfocused. “I’ve been pretty good.” His answer is distant and Shanks knows that Buggy is thinking about the last time they talked, the day before their beloved captain’s execution. “What about you?” The question is more out of stiff politeness than anything else, and both of them know it.

“I’ve been decent,” Shanks replies quietly as he shoots a quick glance at Buggy. Buggy’s eyes meet his only for a split second before the clown looks away. Shanks doesn’t. He keeps watching Buggy, watching the way Buggy doesn’t watch him. He wants to add more, to _ say _ more, but dammit what can he say? After how they left, Shanks isn’t sure he can fix their relationship. 

Once again, silence. They both take a drink of their beers, their eyes looking at the sky as it’s distorted in the bottom of their glasses. They lower their drinks, but their eyes remain locked on the dark clouds and the darker sky.

Then Shanks loudly bangs his tankard down at his side, the alcohol still more than enough to drink. The loud noise makes Buggy jump as his eyes go wide and he looks over at Shanks to see what made Shanks move so abruptly. What he finds is that Shanks is looking at him, a fire and steel in his eyes as his awkward expression fades into one that has no name other than ‘determination.’

“Shanks…?” Buggy asks quietly, a bit thrown off by that look. After all, it’s been ten years since he’s seen that_ look, _ that expression that sends shivers down his spine. The sheer willpower that shines in Shanks’ irises is intimidating, and unsettling. It stirs up something in Buggy’s guts and he isn’t quite sure what that ‘something’ is or what it means. 

The redhead shakes his head with a low hiss of a groan. “I can’t do this anymore. I _ can’t.” _ He says, his voice growing rougher with each word. “Buggy, I missed you.” Shanks speaks the words like they’re his own death sentence, like they’re chains that weigh his tongue down. Those words… They’re so simple, and Buggy didn’t _ not _ expect them; Shanks has always been the sentimental type. It’s just the _ tone _ that Shanks is taking - like he needs to say those words or he’ll combust - that gives Buggy pause.

But he’s not about to show that he’s left confused by Shanks’ attitude. He’ll never let Shanks knows that he has an advantage. So he pulls his lips into a cocky smirk as he straightens his posture a bit. “Of course you did! Who wouldn’t?” He preens as he laughs loudly, his hands reattaching themselves to his wrists. He raises his glass back to his lips to take another drink, but before he can even get the beer into his mouth, the drink is knocked out of his hand and into the ocean below. He watches the still half full tankard fall down into the water before he whips around to yell at Shanks. “Hey! Just what was that for, red hair?”

Shanks’ determined eyes are glaring now as he grabs the back of Buggy’s shirt and drags Buggy down until the clown is laying against the wooden planks with only his lower legs hanging over the edge. Buggy, in his surprise, goes down easily, only letting out a grunt when his head hits the surface of the dock. He’s left staring at the indigo clouds, wondering what just happened. Of course, it clicks within a few seconds and he makes to sit up, but before he can, Shanks is moving to straddle Buggy’s hips. The redhead’s legs are strong, squeezing from Buggy’s waist to his hips and holding him firmly in place. One of Shanks’ hands pins both of Buggy’s in the center of the clown’s chest while the other cups the back of Buggy’s head, calloused fingers tangled in blue hair.

Then Buggy realizes what exactly Shanks is doing. 

As a rule of Buggy’s devil fruit, his feet have to remain on the ground even if the rest of his body is separated and floating around. Right now, his feet are hanging over the edge of the dock. If he were to use his devil fruit ability right now, Buggy’s feet would fall into the ocean and be irretrievable, which would most likely render Buggy’s devil fruit useless at best, and Buggy dead at worst.

But that’s not where Shanks’ cleverness ends. Buggy could still most likely separate his torso from his legs even like this, but Shanks’ legs are firmly holding Buggy’s hips to his lower abdomen, making it impossible to divide his body into two parts. In addition to that, Shanks has pinned Buggy’s hands to his chest, using one movement to restrain Buggy’s upper chest from floating away while also making sure that Buggy couldn’t detach his hands to grab his knives. And, finally, Shanks has a firm grip on Buggy’s head, making sure that whatever Shanks is doing, Buggy can’t separate himself even enough to nag at Shanks from a distance.

Buggy notices all of this and can’t help but scowl as his eyes move up to the redhead’s face. Damn Shanks for that sharp mind that he hides behind all those stupid grins.

“Buggy,” Shanks starts slowly, his serious expression causing a downturn of his lips and a steeliness of his eyes. “We need to talk.” Dark brown eyes are staring directly into blue and Buggy feels like a deer that’s staring down the barrel of a hunter’s gun.

A chill runs down Buggy’s spine as he musters up as fierce of a glare as he can even as Shanks’ words make his stomach turn. He knows exactly what Shanks wants to talk about, and he distinctly does _ not _ want to have that discussion. “I don’t think we do,” He responds pointedly, a sharp edge in his voice as he tries in vain to squirm out of Shanks’ hold. The hand that has a grip on both of his own gets tighter and Buggy lets out a hiss of discomfort. Shanks doesn’t loosen his grip in the slightest.

A frustrated huff passes through Shanks’ lips as he glares down at Buggy. His lips purse together before he speaks again, his voice rough around the edges like he’s holding back too many emotions and they’re rattling around like gravel in his throat. “You _ know _ we do, Buggy. We can’t just leave our relationship off like this-”

“And why can’t we? I don’t see any reason to change anything,” Buggy responds as he glares right back at the redhead. This time the ferocity and anger in his gaze are very real as he tries to sit up. Of course, in this position, it’s not possible, so he settles back into laying on the dock. 

Shanks’ grits his teeth as his scowl deepens. “Buggy,” He starts warningly, “We can’t keep going on like this. I know we left on… weird terms-”

“Weird terms? _ Weird terms?!” _ Buggy laughs disbelievingly, a harsh bark in the silence of the night. “Shanks, let me recap the last three days of our relationship before there was a ten year hiatus.” The taller of the two men opens his mouth to respond, but Buggy continues speaking. “Nope, shut up, red hair. I’m talking.” Shanks’ jaw reluctantly snaps shut. “Good. Now, here’s the recap. Day one, you tell me that you love me and will never _ not _ love me. I tell you to fuck off. Day two, you try to kiss me. I tell you to fuck off. Captain is captured that night. Day three, captain is killed. You go back on everything you’ve ever said and try to recruit me to join your crew, which we had agreed we would never do. I, yet again, tell you to fuck off.” Buggy’s scowl turns into a full on snarl as he venomously spits out the question, “Now just why the fuck would I say anything but ‘fuck off’ right now?”

Shanks’ glare softens ever so slightly as his lips part in a soft exhale. His words are quieter, but hold a bizarre amount of confidence as he confesses that, “Because every time I hear you say ‘fuck off,’ I hear something else.”

“Oh yeah?” Buggy scoffs as he rolls his eyes. “Then just what do you hear, you moron?” Buggy has given up trying to escape and simply looks up at Shanks, red hair bright against navy blue clouds.

A self-deprecating laugh floats out of Shanks’ lips as his fingertips rub against Buggy’s scalp. “All I hear is ‘Fuck off, but don’t think that means you can ask someone else. You’re mine. You belong to me and only I get to torture you. You’re mine and only mine, you redheaded fool.’” His words are so soft and sweet, even in his deep voice. The scowl that had covered Shanks’ face is long gone by now, replaced with an achingly lovestruck smile. His eyes are focused on Buggy’s with such adoration that Buggy is caught off guard by it.

But Buggy is quick-witted and he quickly regains himself and rolls his eyes. “Clean your ears out then, because that’s far from what I’m telling you,” He grumbles with an unimpressed frown.

Shanks chuckles fondly as he leans in closer to Buggy. “You say that, but I don’t think that’s true,” He says with a content happiness. “Actually, I think that it’s the opposite of true.”

The clown’s first instinct is to protest Shanks’ words, but an idea crosses Buggy’s head and he coyly pulls his lower lip between his lips and looks up at Shanks from under his eyelashes. “I… Don’t assume things like that without any proof!” He quietly mumbles almost shyly.

Brown eyes go wide at the sudden and adorable shyness Buggy is displaying. He feels his heart speed up and his breath get caught in his throat. A soft but playful grin pulls at his lips as he quietly asks, “But what if I have proof?”

Buggy laughs breathlessly as a pink blush crosses his cheeks. “But you don’t- Mmh!” 

Shanks steals Buggy’s lips in a soft, slow kiss that cuts off the rest of Buggy’s sentence. Their lips slide together with a natural ease and they let the contact linger between them. The shared contact is warm in the cool night air as Shanks' tongue just barely brushes over Buggy's lower lip. They press a bit more for the faintest of moments before they both pull apart. Their eyes meet for a few brief seconds before they both lean in for another kiss, this one even longer than the one before.

So lost in the kiss he’d been denied ten years prior, Shanks doesn’t notice that his grip on Buggy’s hands has loosened and his legs aren’t tight against Buggy’s hips anymore. Buggy notices too, and smirks against Shanks’ lips. His plan worked perfectly. 

Shanks feels the smirk against his lips and pulls back, knowing he’s fucked up. But it’s too late. In one movement, Buggy pries his hands from Shanks’ grip and places them firmly on the redhead’s shoulders before harshly pushing Shanks down into the water. The loud splash of Shanks’ body hitting the water makes Buggy laugh loudly as he pushes himself up onto his elbows and looks down into the ocean just as Shanks rises to the surface. The look on his face is so _ betrayed _ and it sends Buggy into another fit of laughter.

“Aw, c’mon, now, red hair! Don’t look so sad! You should’ve seen it coming!” The clown calls loudly before cackling as he pulls his feet under him and stands up. “Don’t you know me at all, Shanks?”

Even from this distance, Buggy can hear the sigh that passes through Shanks’ lips. “I do,” Shanks calls up to him, “And I knew that it was possible that you might do that. But I can hope, can’t I?”

Buggy shakes his head as he crosses his arms across his chest and laughs. “If you want to, I guess, but it won’t get you anywhere. You’re not mine, and I definitely don’t want you to be.”

“ I am and always will be,” Shanks responds, beaming even as he treads the cold ocean water. 

“Sure, sure,” Buggy replies dismissively as he bends down to pick up Shanks’ tankard. He raises it to his lips and takes a long drink before smirking back down at the redhead. “Have fun getting dry, and good luck on getting me to say that you’re mine. Trust me, you’ll need the luck.” He snickers as he begins to walk away, Shanks’ beer still in hand.

Shanks just watches him leave, a wide, lovestruck grin still on his face. “Damn, he’s perfect.”


End file.
